


His Royal Highness, Princess Kristopher

by eirana



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirana/pseuds/eirana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris Allen had known that he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but charity work. He's made it his main focus over the years, but as Crown Prince of Arkansas, he'd known that it wasn't going to last forever. Kings can't exactly spend the majority of their reign in other countries helping other people and neglecting their own.  Still, Kris had thought he had a few more years of freedom before he'd have to give up taking such an active role in his work.  Then his parents arrange a marriage for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Royal Highness, Princess Kristopher

**Author's Note:**

> For Round 2 of kradambigbang. Thanks to [](http://unfrosted-cake.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**unfrosted_cake**](http://unfrosted-cake.dreamwidth.org/) for the art and for bearing with me when I got OCD on her, the amazing mods of this challenge, and [](http://ladymichaelis.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ladymichaelis**](http://ladymichaelis.dreamwidth.org/) for inspiring ~~and enabling~~ this mad little story.

  
  


  


Princess Kris is not a girl. Everyone knows he isn’t a girl, and no one has mistaken him for one in years—he was only two, okay?—but the title of princess has been with him his entire life.

What happened is this: twenty-five years ago, King Neil and Queen Kim of Arkansas had a little baby boy. He was their firstborn, and the entire kingdom rejoiced at the news. But Queen Kim’s labor was long and arduous, and by the time Prince Kristopher Neil Allen was born, it was almost five in the morning.

The Royal Announcement Maker had fallen asleep at his Royal Writing Table, the not-quite dry ink of other Royal Announcements staining his cheek. (All Royal Announcements were required to be written the old-fashioned way, with quill and ink, or else.) The Royal Messenger had burst into the Royal Library and brought the Royal Announcement Maker to an abrupt awakening, sending all the Royal Papers flying onto the floor.

When he grouchily asked the Royal Messenger what all the hubbub was about, he burst out that the prince had been born, and a Royal Announcement was to be made immediately. In his half-awake state, the Royal Announcement Maker prepared the announcement that would tell the kingdom about their new prince.

Except he misspelled the Royal Announcement, and the Royal Messenger ran off with it before the ink had a second to dry. Several hours later, the Royal Messenger read the Royal Announcement that the Royal Announcement Maker had written in a haze; and so, Prince Kristopher was announced to the world at large as Princess Kristopher.

The mistake was corrected minutes later—and the Royal Announcement Maker was forced to write numerous Royal Announcements that the people called King Neil’s Revenge—but the title stuck, even though it isn’t an official one.

Kris knows that he isn’t truly a princess but it’s become something of an endearment among the people; Kris is their princess. It used to bother him when he was a kid, because only girls were princesses and girls were icky, but he’s taken to the nickname nicely over the years.

It’s become something of an indicator for him. How someone says “Princess Kris” speaks volumes of their person. At a party, he had been forced to deal with Daniel “but, hey, call me Danny” Gokey, Baron of Milwaukee, who had taken his hand gingerly, as if Kris’ touch would burn, and said the beloved nickname with derision, his lips curling into a mocking sneer; Kris decided then and there to avoid him as much as possible.

He likes being Princess Kris, even if it’s unconventional, and if anyone doesn’t like it, they can kiss his Royal Ass.

Kris tries to stay away from court politics. All the little intrigues involved don’t interest him. What interests him is the people, their lives, their struggles, their joys. He likes to be out among them, to become someone they can depend on instead of being a distant ruler. He’s been all over the world, helped out in various relief efforts, and helmed several charity organizations; Princess Kris has built up a bit of a reputation with his work.

He’s thought about abdicating his place as heir and letting his brother rule Arkansas instead. There’s so much more he could do out there than here. If he were King, he wouldn’t be able to go elsewhere as often; you can’t rule a kingdom well from a distance.

But Kris knows he can’t do that; he has a duty. While he wishes he could, he can’t be Princess Kris forever.

“Princess? Your father wants to talk to you.”

Kris looks up, the Royal Messenger, Ryan Seacrest, standing in the doorway. Ryan used to be afraid to call him Princess Kris, since he was partly responsible for the whole incident, but when he saw how nicely Kris took to it, he got over it.

He stands up, nervous. His father rarely asks to see him—Daniel, on the other hand, gets reprimanded regularly for something or another—so Kris thinks his nerves are justified. The Royal Summons he’d received had sounded ominous; words like “future” and “urgency” had been used.

“Do you know why he wants to see me, Ryan?” Kris brings himself to ask as he stares warily at the door to the Royal Study.

Ryan smiles brightly at him. “No idea, Princess, but I’m sure it’s nothing bad; the King’s been in high spirits since his trip out west.”

“You’re right,” Kris says absent-mindedly, biting his lip. “Okay, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Princess,” he says before bowing low, rising only when Kris closes the door to the Royal Study behind him.

His father’s fussing with some of the papers on his desk when he walks in, dropping them in favor of getting up to embrace Kris once he notices his presence.

“How are you, son?”

“Good. I heard from Ryan that your trip went well.”

The King grins. “It went very well.”

Kris has heard a lot of things about his father’s trip to California to see King Eber, namely that there were visits to clubs and lots of general debauchery; he’s choosing to believe that they are all vicious lies.

“Actually, my trip is part of the reason I wanted to see you. Please sit,” he says, indicating the simple wooden chair in front of the desk.

Kris hates sitting in that chair. It’s slightly shorter than the one his father sits in, so that whomever he’s talking to has to look up at him; Kris doesn’t need to feel any shorter. He sits down quietly, watching his father take a seat behind his desk. He suddenly looks serious; Kris is afraid.

“You know that King Eber and I are good friends.” Kris nods when his father pauses expectantly. “He and I haven’t seen each other in many years, although we have kept in touch. When I went to see him, he told me that he was looking for a suitable spouse for his son.”

Kris doesn’t like where this is going.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’ve arranged a marriage between you and Eber’s eldest son, Adam. In a week’s time, you will be on your way to Los Angeles, the kingdom’s capital, to meet your intended.”

It’s silent for a long time. Kris breathes deeply, tries to speak calmly past the rush of blood going to his head. “Is that all, Your Majesty?”

His father winces. “Yes. You may go, Kris.”

He rises to his feet too quickly. He doesn’t even care that he stumbles. He wants to go to his rooms, where he can rage in private.

“Princess?” his father says when Kris reaches for the handle.

“Yes?” he manages to say coolly.

“Give him a chance.”

“I will,” Kris says as he opens the door, stepping outside and shutting it firmly behind him. “Not,” he mutters, glaring at the closed door before walking briskly down the hallways towards his chambers.

He will not stand for this.

  
  


  


“You’re getting married? Oh, that’s brilliant!”

Kris glares at his valet. “Brilliant? How is an arranged marriage brilliant?” he cries as he flings his jacket off.

Brad rolls his eyes, picking the coat up off the floor. “An arranged marriage to Adam Lambert, Crown Prince of California,” he says pointedly. “He’s dreamy.”

“And a total nightmare,” Kris adds dryly. He is not exaggerating on that account; Prince Adam has been in the tabloids practically every day since he reached his majority. His exploits in this calendar year have included sinking the Royal Yacht, setting fire to the Royal Jeweler’s shop, and driving the Royal Limo off of a cliff; it’s only April.

“So he’s a little out of control. You’re a stick-in-the-mud. You’re perfect for each other!” Kris chucks his shirt at Brad’s head. “It only hurts because I’m telling the truth, Princess. It couldn’t hurt to go out there and see what the guy’s like.”

“It’s not him I have a problem with,” he says, flinging himself onto the bed. “I have a problem with my father up and marrying me off to someone I’ve never even met. I didn’t even know people still did arranged marriages.”

“Well, apparently, they do.” At Kris’ pout, Brad sighs. “Shove over, Princess.” He grudgingly shuffles to his right so that Brad can curl up next to him. “Look, I’m not saying it’s perfect, but you’re stuck. Might as well make the best out of it. At least he’s hot.”

Kris’ lips twitch. He has to agree with Brad’s assessment. As much of a disaster area as Prince Adam is, he’s also ridiculously attractive—and tall; Kris hates tall people.

“I guess.”

“It could be worse, Princess. You could be marrying Baron Gokey.”

The comment makes him break out in hysterical laughter that feels more like tears. The next thing he knows, they are tears, slipping down his cheeks as he laughs uncontrollably. Brad pulls him close, wrapping his skinny arms around Kris and hushing him soothingly.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s going to be alright.”

Kris really wants to believe him. He sniffles a little, burying his face in Brad’s shoulder. “Promise that you’ll come with me?”

“Like I’d let you go without me.”

He smiles, finding Brad’s hand and squeezing it with his own. In a week, Kris is going to be in California to meet his husband-to-be.

“Brad, do me a favor and get me incredibly drunk tonight. I need it.”

  
  


  


When Kris first met Brad Bell, he ran away. That mostly had to do with the fact that Brad seemed to be obsessed with getting Kris to wear a dress. (He said that Kris owed it to princesses everywhere to put on a pretty dress at least once in his life. He retorted that firstly, he was not a real princess; secondly, not all princesses wore dresses; and, thirdly, he put on a pretty dress once when he was five and he and Lady Katy of Conway were playing dress-up. She said that it was unfair for her to always be the damsel in distress, so she made Kris put on a frilly pink dress as she pretended to be the knight who was saving him from a dragon in a tall tower.)

Brad looks like a shorter, prettier sparkly version of Kris. He showed up in Arkansas about a year ago with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a charming smile; he now has more clothes than Kris himself does.

He’s still not entirely sure how Brad was hired to work as his new valet after his old one mysteriously won the lottery, but Kris has grown to love flashy, eccentric ball of energy that is Brad Bell.

Even though, right now, he wants to push him off the plane and laugh gleefully as he splatters somewhere over the Midwest.

“Did you know Prince Adam has been voted Most Eligible Royal every year since he turned twenty-one?”

“That’s nice,” Kris says morosely, glaring at Brad, who’s spent the entire flight on his laptop, reading any and every article about Prince Adam he can find.

“He also spent a year in Europe as part of a touring company of _Hair_ when he was nineteen. Obviously, your husband-to-be has no issues with public nudity. Ooh, and I can see why; you’re one lucky man, Princess.”

He snaps the laptop shut. “Brad, I will end you if you don’t shut up about Prince Adam.”

Brad smiles sunnily at him, picking up Kris’ hand and putting it back onto the armrest, before opening the laptop back up and resuming his search. “He’s not afraid to take risks with fashion, as his stint as a dead ringer for a used car salesman from Jersey can attest to, and is very into charitable projects. That’s good, right? I know how big you are on that sort of thing.”

Kris’ interest is peaked at that and he leans over, looking at Brad’s findings for the first time. He finds himself nodding in approval at the numerous pictures of Prince Adam with elementary school kids. He looks sincerely happy, the wide smile on his face reaching his eyes, something missing from the multitudes of official pictures Brad’s been shoving in his face for the past week.

“It’s good,” Kris says absently, a smile blooming as Brad scrolls down the page, revealing more and more pictures of a happy Adam surrounded by grateful kids and teachers.

Brad smirks. “Admit it; he doesn’t seem all bad.”

He tears his gaze away from the photos and rolls his eyes. “So he has a heart. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t a walking media circus. You’ve only been showing me the articles you think will impress me, interest me, or make me nervous about the honeymoon. The guy gets more bad press than good.”

Brad pouts at him, fluttering his eyelashes. “I’m just trying to help. You’re so determined to detest him. What if he’s the one for you, Princess?”

Kris stubbornly faces away from Brad and keeps his mouth shut, watching the clock impatiently; this flight cannot end soon enough.

  
  


  


“I’m not going.”

Brad sighs. “Princess-”

“Nope. Unless Prince Adam himself is here, I’m not moving. I’m not leaving and you can’t make me. What kind of person can’t be bothered to pick up their fiancé from the airport?”

“The kind that forget they promised to perform at a benefit concert on the same day,” someone says dryly from behind them.

Kris flushes. He turns around to face the newcomer, obviously someone from the Royal Entourage. It’s a slim blond man with dark eyes, dressed all in black except for the crimson jacket that singles him out as someone of importance.

“I’m sorry,” Kris says earnestly, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. “Kris Allen, Prin-ce,” he starts, realizing his mistake halfway through and correcting himself. “Prince of Arkansas.”

“Tommy Joe Ratliff,” the blond says. His grip is strong, like, assassin strong; Kris wonders what Tommy’s job is.

“I didn’t mean to come off like a spoiled brat, but it’s been a long flight and my valet is incredibly annoying-”

“And he’s definitely a spoiled brat,” Brad says, grinning. “Brad Bell, the prince’s valet.”

“Charmed,” Tommy says, eying them both. He bends down to lay a gentle kiss on Kris’ hand, making him flush a bit brighter. Tommy lets go of his hand and pulls a card out of his pocket, beginning to read from it in a monotone. “The Prince regrets that he was unable to welcome you to our fair kingdom himself, but he had forgotten that he had a previous engagement, blahblahblah.” He crumples the card up and shoves it back into his pocket, rolling his eyes. “What the idiot really means is that he’s an idiot and he forgot that you were arriving on the same day as the concert.”

Brad bursts into his high, tinkling laugh. “Oh, I like him, Princess.” His eyes widen as the last word leaves his mouth.

Kris buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. He’d been hoping to have this conversation in private, not a crowded airport. Tommy, to his credit, doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow at them, curious. Kris lets out a deep breath and decides to get it over with.

Brad steps in before he can get a word in edgewise. “Pardon me. The Prince and I have a strange relationship; he allows me far too many liberties.”

While he appreciates the effort, Kris hasn’t been ashamed of his moniker for years, and bears it with pride. “Thanks, Brad, but that wasn’t necessary.” He looks directly at Tommy, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s a long story, but, basically, I unofficially go by Princess Kris. If any of you have a problem with that, then I’m going on the next plane back to Little Rock and y’all can go screw yourselves.”

Tommy smiles at him. “Understood, Princess. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll get your baggage and be on our way. The King and Queen are looking forward to meeting you.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks towards the baggage claim.

Kris stares after him, bemused. Next to him, Brad laughs, shaking his head. “Well, Princess, if nothing else, Prince Adam certainly knows how to pick his employees.”

Kris couldn’t agree more.

  
  


  


Four others came with Tommy to escort Kris to the Royal Palace. They’re part of the Royal Guard—their official title is something more pompous and longwinded, but their leader, Monte Pittman, had grinned and said that no one could actually remember it—and among Prince Adam’s trusted few.

They’re led by Monte and made up of about fifteen or so individuals. Prince Adam’s inner circle is highly exclusive, and they all trust each other immensely. The consequences of betraying the circle are deadly.

Looking at them, Kris never would have guessed that they’re some of the most dangerous people on the planet. They’re an eclectic bunch, wild and colorful and bursting with energy. They remind him a lot of Brad, actually. He seems like he was born to be among them.

Kris sticks out like a sore thumb wrapped in plaid. He downs his third glass of champagne and grabs the bottle to pour some more.

“You alright, darling?”

Along with Tommy and Monte, his Prince Adam substitutes include Brooke Wendle, Terrance Spencer, Sasha Mallory, and Taylor Green. The only one who’s noticed his newfound devotion to the champagne bottle is Brooke.

She has a gentle hand on his shoulder, mouth pursed in a concerned frown. He tries to smile reassuringly at her, but his mouth won’t move the way he wants it to.

“I’m fine, Brooke. Just a little nervous.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “If you aren’t alright, it’s perfectly understandable. I don’t know how calm I’d be if I were marrying someone I’d never met.”

Kris blinks. “Are all of Prince Adam’s friends this direct?”

Brooke smiles winsomely at him; he takes that as a yes.

“He doesn’t like it when people bullshit him, says he gets enough of that with the press and other nobles. He finds us refreshing,” Taylor says cheerily, bouncing over to the corner where Kris and Brooke are sitting, planting himself so close to Kris that he’s practically in his lap.

“…Are you petting my hair?” Kris says disbelievingly.

“Yep,” Taylor says, wiggling the fingers buried in Kris’ hair. “You have really nice hair. It’s soft. Like a baby bird.”

Brooke laughs softly, giving Taylor a fond smile. “Leave him be, honey. This prince isn’t used to us yet. We don’t want to scare him off before he gets a chance to meet Adam.” She turns to Kris, who looks bemused by the boy beaming at him. “We’re an affectionate bunch, so this kind of thing is commonplace.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Princess; he’s a cuddly fucker. He won’t mind it one little bit,” Brad says from further away, taking his attention off of Terrance—and his abs—for the first time since they got into the limo.

Kris glares at him. “I should’ve left you in Arkansas,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and wishing he had pushed Brad off of the plane.

Taylor lets out something that sounds like a squeal. “You’re adorable! Adam’s going to love you.”

Brooke’s eyes widen. “Tay, remember what I said before we left?”

“Don’t talk to strangers, don’t wander off, don’t go home with anyone even if they seem nice, don’t scare off Adam’s fiancé,” he rattles off, like he’s asked to do this often.

Kris blinks; he has a feeling he’s going to be left speechless most of the time around this bunch. He stares woefully at his empty glass, which gets refilled; Kris isn’t the one pouring. He looks up, and Taylor’s holding the champagne bottle, carefully filling Kris’ glass back up. When he’s done, he meets Kris’ eyes and smiles.

“You know,” he says, pausing to take a sip, “you can keep petting my hair if you want. Brad’s annoying, but he’s right; I like it when people get handsy.”

Taylor’s smile broadens, eagerly slipping a hand back into Kris’ hair. He sips at his glass some more, then offers it to Brooke, who smiles as she shakes her head no before slipping away. She settles in next to Brad, laughing when she catches the tail end of his latest anecdote.

For the rest of the drive, Kris sips at his glass, Taylor refilling it when it empties, and by the time they reach the Royal Palace, he is blindingly drunk. Like, the embarrassing kind of drunk that can’t walk, talk, or form coherent thoughts, and will probably puke all over everyone’s shoes.

“Oh god,” he moans, dropping his head onto Taylor’s shoulder. “I can’t believe this. I’m going to meet the King and Queen of California while completely wasted. My parents would be so ashamed.”

Taylor just keeps petting his hair and saying that it’s going to be alright when it is clearly _not_ going to be alright; Kris is drunk. He is so fit-shaced—damnit— _shit-faced_ ¬ right now. This is going to make such a bad first impression on his future in-laws. The in-laws he’s never even met before today. Who he’s meeting before his husband-to-be.

The thought makes him laugh hysterically, his eyes starting to water. He’s smashed and he’s about to meet nobles, and that combination never goes well. Well, depending on your definition of “going well.” Last time had involved Kris, a nobleman named Cale, and lots of rather pleasant kissing.

Brad appears before him, prying the glass out of his grip and taking his face in his hands. “Princess, you need to pull yourself together,” he says gently, the frantic look in his eyes the only visible sign that he doesn’t have everything completely under control.

“Wan’ go home, sparkles,” Kris slurs pathetically, hands flying to his mouth when the limo makes an abrupt stop.

“I know, honey, I know,” Brad says soothingly, gaze darting frantically to the other four occupants.

They’re all watching with slightly amused faces. Terrance comes forward, pulling Kris into his arms.

“Worse comes to worse, I can carry him out,” he says, wrapping an arm around Kris thoughtfully.

Kris thinks that sounds like a brilliant idea.

Brooke shakes her head. “No, the press will eat that up. He’s going to have to walk out.” She tries to catch Kris’ eyes, but he presses his forehead against Terrance’s shoulder and looks away. “Kris, you just have to get to the doors. The walkway isn’t that long. Can you do that?”

He nods half-heartedly. Someone opens the door, and Kris lurches towards it, leaning heavily on Brad for support. Everyone else files out, Kris forced to exit last in the hopes of calming his rebellious stomach. He steps out tentatively, Terrance and Taylor stepping forward quickly to help hold him up. Kris stumbles his way into the Royal Estate without his face meeting the asphalt, but just barely.

He breathes an audible sigh of relief once they’re inside, sinking onto the plush sofa in the entryway. “I can’t believe I’m already screwing up. I just got here!”

Someone sits down next to him, laughing softly. “Relax, Princess.” It’s Tommy, smiling reassuringly. “Eber and Leila think highly of your parents, and of you. They’re impressed with all the work you’ve done.”

“They know?” Which is a stupid thing to say, because of course they know.

“Lots of people know,” Monte says as he and the rest of the Guard come in carrying the luggage.

“Oh.”

Kris sinks back against the couch; he is so out of his depth here. His kingdom is nothing compared to the thriving metropolis that is California. Here, all the little court intrigues that he’d avoided at home can’t be escaped. He’ll be forced to be a trophy wife for a yacht-sinking prince.

“Uh-oh,” Brad says, watching him with wide eyes. “I think Princess is about to hit the-”  
Kris turns to Tommy and starts sobbing into his shoulder. “Yeah. That,” he finishes wryly, sitting down on Kris’ other side and freeing Tommy from his clutches.

“Is he okay?” Taylor says worriedly, moving closer to slip a hand into Kris’ hair.

“He’s fine,” Brad answers, shushing Kris and rubbing his back soothingly. “Just hitting the weepy phase.” He turns to the other guards. “Can we maybe postpone the meeting the in-laws thing? He’s really not in the best state right now.” Brad slowly coaxes Kris up onto his feet, eying the grand staircase longingly.

“I’ll go tell them. I’m sure they’ll understand once I tell them what a tiring journey the Prince has had,” Monte says, grinning at the—barely successful—way Brad is supporting Kris. “Tommy, you come with me; Eber said he has something for you take care of. Everyone else, you help get His Highness settled into his room. Leila said the East Wing.”

“You mean as far away from Adam’s chambers as possible?” Sasha says, hefting up two suitcases to Terrance and Taylor’s one apiece, smirking.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “You know how the Royal Pain gets,” he says distractedly, watching the way Kris is weaving unsteadily on his feet. “You sure you’ll get there, okay? Princess doesn’t look so good.”

Brad laughs nervously. “He’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. Really. You two go on and give Their Majesties our humblest and sincerest apologies. I just need someone to tell me where to go before he hurls all over your lovely hardwood floors.”

“Don’t worry,” Brooke says soothingly, hiding her smile. “We’ll get His Highness there in one piece.”

Monte and Tommy both give Kris a small bow, as protocol demands, but he waves a hand at them sloppily, almost taking both him and Brad down with the move.

“Stop with all that formal crap; I hate it. I’m either Princess or Kris. No more of that ‘Your Highness’ junk,” he slurs.

Brad shakes his head. “And this, Princess, is why we make it a point to keep you _away_ from the liquor.”

Monte laughs as he walks away, Tommy’s lips quirking up at the corners before he turns to follow him. Taylor looks like he wants to drop the suitcase he’s holding to pet Kris’ hair some more, Sasha smirks and runs up the stairs without breaking a sweat, and Terrance takes hold of Kris’ other side, Brad grinning gratefully at him.

Brooke’s eyes sweep over the motley crew, shaking her head all the while. “This is going to be fun.”

  
  


  


Someone tried to drill Kris’ head open last night. That is the only thing he can think of to explain the searing headache bursting beneath his eyelids. He really should have known better.

He groans loudly, groping around for what he’s not exactly sure, but Brad usually sleeps next to him after Kris imbibes a little too much alcohol.

“Brad’s not here,” someone, definitely female, says from Kris’ right.

He forces his eyes open slowly, throwing an arm over them at the light streaming in through the open curtains. He hears rustling, the sound of curtains being drawn shut.

“It’s safe to look now,” she says, muffling a laugh.

Kris opens one eye warily, trying to find the source of the voice. It’s Sasha, sitting in a plush armchair a couple feet away from the bed. He blinks, trying to get his eyes to cooperate and open fully. When he can mostly see, he lurches into a sitting position, regretting it seconds later when it makes his head throb even more.

He lets out a pitiful groan, leaning back against the headboard, a hand pressed to his forehead. “Why didn’t any of you take the champagne away from me?” Kris moans.

The bed dips as Sasha settles gingerly onto the edge. “Because you looked so precious cradling it like a lost little baby orphan,” she coos teasingly, ruffling Kris’ hair.

“What is it with you people and my hair?!”

“It’s fluffy,” she deadpans.

They stare at each other, Sasha’s face carefully blank as Kris glares, before cracking up moments later.

“I swear I’m not an alcoholic,” he manages between laughs.

She beams at him. “I didn’t think you were. Brooke wasn’t speaking only for herself yesterday, Princess. If you’re nervous, we get it; none of us envy you royals.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” he says dryly.

“I’m just saying! It’s understandable. Have you even met Adam before?”

Kris shakes his head. “Nope. Our fathers have been good friends for years, but the most I know about Prince Adam is from vague mentions and the press.”

Sasha gives him a sympathetic look. “You know better than anyone not to believe everything you hear.”

“I don’t!” he says in a rush. “I mean, I don’t believe all that crap. Just, there’s always a grain of truth, even in the most outlandish stories. I just don’t want to be stuck here,” Kris whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. “I can deal with the arranged marriage thing if he and I can at least be civil to each other, but if he makes me stop my work, if he takes that away…”

Sasha startles him by taking his hand in hers. He looks up, surprised to see that her eyes are watering. “I don’t think he would. Adam doesn’t let many people in, but those that he does; he lets them close without reservation. The man I know, the one I consider a dear friend, he wouldn’t do that.”

“How can you be sure?”

She laughs. “Because I know him. Because I know how much good you can do,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes on their joined hands. “Before I found my way here, I wasn’t doing so well. My family was having troubles, too many bills to pay, you know? We couldn’t always put food on the table, especially after my niece got sick. And then you, this little prince from a place we’d only heard of, you showed up and tried to change things. After you got your new meal plan set up in our town, we got along a lot better. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a huge improvement.”

Kris pulls her into a tight hug and hopes that he doesn’t reek of alcohol. When he lets go, she looks stunned.

“What was that for?”

He shrugs. “For telling me that even though you didn’t have to. I don’t need to hear it from people that I’m actually making an impact, but it’s nice all the same.”

“And that’s why Adam won’t stop you. He understands where you’re coming from,” she says confidently, grinning at him.

“Is that why you got ‘watch the drunken princess and make sure he doesn’t die before waking up’ duty?”

“Please, I _asked_ for it. You make one hell of a drunk. I had to see for myself what you were like hung over.” Sasha ruffles his hair one more time for good measure before flouncing off the bed and over to the doors of the large walk-in closet that will probably house more of Brad’s clothes than Kris’. “Now let’s get you prettied up! You have a future husband to meet.”

Kris rolls over to hide his face in a pillow and groans. Meeting them with a hangover is a slight improvement from thoroughly intoxicated. Very slight. He forces himself to get out of bed, managing not to stumble over anything. He can hear Sasha rummaging through the closet, and thinks about calling Brad in here; he doesn’t like it when Kris gets dressed without his input.

“Hey, Sasha? Where is Brad, anyway? The pest won’t let me hear the end of it if he doesn’t get to choose every single article of clothing I put on this morning.”

“He’s on his way,” she yells back from the depths of the closet. “I called him when you started twitching around in your sleep.”

Kris can do this. There’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re just people, like him. People who rule one of the most powerful kingdoms around. No pressure. None whatsoever. Although he has to know…

“Sasha? Can you tell me something?”

“Sure,” she says, walking back into the room holding a large armful of clothing. There are things _sparkling_ in that pile; Kris doesn’t do sparkles.

“Has Prince Adam really sunk a yacht?”

“Yep,” she replies nonchalantly, dumping the clothes onto Kris’ bed and starting to sort through them.

Just people like him—if Kris sank yachts.

  
  


  


The hangover is one of the nasty ones, the kind that make every move painful, every sound like a jagged arrow piercing his skull and digging right into his brain. Kris wants to curl up into a ball and die.

Tommy smirks at him like the jerk that he is all during breakfast. Taylor pets his hair some more and coos sympathetically at him, asking if he’s alright. Sasha watches them with a little grin on her lips, nodding at whatever Brad’s saying as if she were actually listening when she obviously isn’t. Monte, Brooke, and Terrance are nowhere to be found, but Tommy had said that Monte’s talking to the King and Queen.

Where the other two are, Kris can only wonder. Probably something top secret and highly dangerous.

Brooke opens the doors, Terrance trailing after her, both of them holding several newspapers in their arms. Brad makes a high-pitched, excited noise and pulls him to the chair right next to his. Kris rolls his eyes; at least Brad’s particular brand of crazy is something he’s used to.

Brooke pecks Taylor’s cheek in greeting and does the same to Kris before sitting down, a grave look on her face.

“We have a bit of a problem,” she says, handing one of the newspapers to him.

Kris looks down at it warily, bracing himself. His mouth drops open as the headline registers.

“They did not,” he squeaks, picking it up to get a better look.

 _Prince Adam and Princess Kris: A Match Made in Tabloid Heaven?_

 _To those of you not in the know, our esteemed Crown Prince, Adam Lambert, is engaged! He has been the apple of the public eye for years, charming many with his dazzling good looks and sharp wit, while scandalizing the masses with his knack for causing trouble. Over the past few years, our beloved prince has sunk the Royal Yacht, wrecked the Royal Limo several times over, nearly caused international incidents…_

Kris skims over the long list detailing Adam’s past shenanigans. (The Royal Lake? Kris can’t even.) He wants to know what he has to do with all of this. His eyes finally find his name, and with each word, he feels his hangover getting worse—and discovers that his stomach isn’t nearly as settled as he thought it was.

 _Now, many of you might be asking, who is worthy of our beloved Prince Adam? The answer to that question, friends, is none other than “Princess” Kris. Who is that? After all, it is no secret that our prince prefers his partners be male, so why a marriage to a princess?_

 _The answer, dear readers, is this: “Princess” Kris is officially known as Kristopher Neil Allen, Crown Prince of Arkansas. The moniker was given to him due to an unfortunate incident…_

The editorial goes into excruciating detail about the origins behind his name, and glosses over his charity work. The kicker is the final paragraph that describes him as, among other things, “a raging alcoholic who will doubtless cause an equal—if not greater—amount of chaos among the people as his fiancé.”

The “raging alcoholic” bit is supported by a paparazzi photo taken during his arrival yesterday. He’s walking up the pathway to the Royal Estate, supported by Taylor and Terrance, obviously intoxicated.

Kris is going to cut a bitch.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Princess?” Brooke asks, a raised eyebrow and barely hidden grin betraying her amusement.

“You heard me,” he mutters, crumpling up the paper. “Are you kidding me? I just got here! How could they already have something on me?” When Brad opens his mouth, Kris throws a pancake in his direction, hitting him square in the face. “Not a word out of you.”

Brad shrugs, turning to the pancake on his plate and eating it. Kris glares at him and tries to resist the urge to pour coffee onto his lap.

Taylor runs a hand through his hair. “It’ll be okay, Kris. The King and Queen don’t trust any of that trash.”

“But they do trust The _LA Times_ ,” Terrance says, waving one of the papers in his stack in the air.

Kris lets his head fall onto the table with a loud thump; he is so screwed.

  
  


  


“Just relax.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t a big deal, so just breathe and-”

“Okay!” Kris snaps.

Brad stops walking. “Way to remain calm, Princess.”

Kris has always known that one day he’d lose it and kill Brad. He just hadn’t known it’d be so soon.

“Brad,” he grits out.

“Yes?” he says brightly.

“I love you, but I swear to God, I am going to kill you if you don’t shut up.”

Brad pouts but remains silent until they reach the doors to the Great Hall. Kris stares at them for a long moment. He can do this. He’s met nobles before. Kris can interact with others in a social setting without making a complete and total fool of himself.

“It’s okay if you’re scared.”

His eyes dart over to meet Brad’s sympathetic ones. “I can’t be scared,” Kris says.

“No, Prince Kristopher can’t be scared. Kris can be fucking terrified if he wants to be,” Brad says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Kris steps forward into his open arms, leaning down to bury his face in Brad’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, stroking Kris’ hair. “You’re made of tougher stuff than you think, Princess. Just go in there and wow them with your amazingly adorable self; it’ll go great. Trust me.”

Kris lets out a big breath. “Okay. I can do this. You go on in there and announce me and all that crap. I’ll wait out here and try not to faint from the sheer terror.”

Brad beams brilliantly at him before slipping inside. Kris just barely keeps his promise not to pass out. Or run. The impulse to run is rather hard to ignore. Before he can give into it, both of the doors open wide. Kris hopes that the deer in the headlights impression he does is mostly in his head.

He straightens his spine and steps into the room, lightheaded and breathless. His step is steady though, his gaze direct. Kris is a royal, and he’ll damn well act like one. Even if he doesn’t feel like one right now.

The Great Hall is open and spacious, grander than any of the rooms in their palace in Arkansas. Kris notes that the walls seem to have a subtle sparkle, which ow; his eyes don’t like shiny things right now. The sun’s beaming down through a skylight, filling the room with a warm glow. Despite its size, it still seems inviting.

At the other end of the room are two figures seated in ornate thrones: his future in-laws.

Kris is going to throw up.

“Kris? Is that you? Come closer!” a dark-haired woman, the Queen, says, warm and friendly.

He tries to keep his steps even and measured as he walks to where they are, but it’s a losing battle. By the time he shuffles all the way over to their side of the room, the Queen has stood up from her throne and descended the dais, stepping forward to take his hands in hers and give him a smile.

“Tell me, Eber, does he look more like Kim or Neil to you?”

The King chuckles softly, blue eyes warm as they look him over. “A bit of both, I’d say.”

The Queen tilts her head and squints at him. “I think you’re right.” She takes his arm in hers, leading him towards a side door that leads out to a terrace, the King following behind them. “Well, enough of that. Tell me, Kris, how was your trip?”

“I, umm, well, Your Majesty, it-”

She laughs, loud and infectious. “Please, Kris, call me Leila. We are going to be family.”

Kris blanches. “Yes. We are,” he says, feeling faint.

“Are you alright, son? You don’t look too good.”

“It’s nothing, Your Majesty, really-”

“It’s Eber to you, Kris. What my wife said goes for both of us,” the King- Eber says, holding a hand out for Kris to shake, a bright smile on his face.

He takes it in a daze, mind spinning a little. “May I sit?”

“Of course, dear,” Leila says, concerned eyes on Kris, guiding him to one of the patio chairs. “You must be exhausted. I heard you weren’t feeling well last night.”

He flushes. “Just a bit of jetlag, Your- Leila. I didn’t want to meet you while I was feeling under the weather.”

“Are you feeling better today?”

Kris wants to kill everyone by throwing them into a raging fire so that they understand his current pain.

“Much.”

  
  


  


“Perez Hilton blogged about you,” Brad says the second Kris walks back into his room.

He stares blankly at him. “What?”

“Check it out!” he says brightly, nudging his open laptop towards Kris. “He said that your union with Prince Adam will cause the apocalypse.”

“Brad,” he starts, “I just came back from what would’ve been an enjoyable afternoon with Leila and Eber, except my head was killing me the entire time and it took every ounce of etiquette training I have to keep it from showing; I could care less about what some blogger says.”

Brad pouts. “Fine, ruin my fun.” He goes back to tapping away at his laptop. “Oh, by the way, I think you should know that-”

“Brad? Can you please… Oh. Well, hello.”

A man just walked out of his closet.

“Why did a man just walk out of my closet?” Kris asks, ignoring aforementioned man and scowling at Brad, who is pretending to be engrossed in whatever’s on his laptop.

He’s taller than Kris—which isn’t unusual—but he’s tall even by normal people’s standards, with broad shoulders and long legs. Dark hair and bright blue eyes, a wide smile on his face that reminds Kris of someone. He’s attractive, the ridiculous kind of attractive that makes everyone else feel inferior. (If asked, Kris will deny feelings of inferiority.)

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

It makes the man burst into laughter, Brad shaking his head and trying to hide his smile.

“Oh, Princess. Don’t you recognize him? Or do the pictures not do him justice?”

“Brad,” the man reprimands gently. “He sounds like he had a tough day. My parents can be a bit much.”

Parents? Oh, god, no. No, no, no, no, no, this cannot be happening.

The man—Adam Lambert, Crown Prince of California and Kris’ freaking fiancé—holds a hand out to him, that welcoming grin still on his lips. “Adam Lambert. Nice to finally meet you.”

Kris faints. Before he does, he has the inane realization that Prince Adam has Leila’s smile.

  
  


  


“Brad, tell me that didn’t really happen,” Kris groans, eyes fluttering open. His hands wander over the mattress—how Brad managed to get him up here in one piece he can only imagine—and finds a muscled thigh; not Brad’s.

He jerks his hand away and rolls over, refusing to look. Someone flicks his ear.

“Come on, Princess; time to face the music.”

A warm chuckle fills the room. “It’s okay, Brad. The shyness is kind of cute.”

Kris turns around so that he can level a glare at Prince Adam, who is taking up more room on his bed than is necessary. “People who don’t know me aren’t allowed to call me cute.”

Brad’s standing behind him, raising a judgmental brow at Kris. He isn’t allowed to judge, the traitor. He’s been doing nothing but sing Prince Adam’s praises since he found out about the engagement.

“My apologies,” Prince Adam says sincerely, a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbles, crossing his arms, the dull throbbing of his head getting sharper with each passing second. “I hate you.” At Prince Adam’s wide, bewildered eyes, Kris adds, “Not you, him,” he says, jerking a hand in Brad’s general direction. “He’s a jerk, and not nearly as nice as he pretends to be; don’t trust him.”

Prince Adam looks bemused. He either finds Kris endearingly odd or thinks he’s just plain crazy. “If you don’t trust him, then why is he your valet?”

Brad opens his mouth, but Kris speaks before he can say anything Brad-like. “He just wormed his way in. One minute, I was wondering who the sparkly newcomer was, the next, he was the one helping me get dressed in the morning.”

“And good thing I did, too,” Brad says smugly. “Your clothes were a disaster before I came along, Princess.”

“There was nothing wrong with my wardrobe. Starving children don’t care about the fit of my jeans,” Kris huffs, shimmying into a sitting position.

Prince Adam looks amused at their interplay. He’s also dressed in something that looks far more expensive than anything Kris owns. Personally, Kris isn’t a fan of fabrics that shimmer or come with spikes and studs.

“I’m sorry I missed your arrival, but I had an engagement I couldn’t get out of. I hope you were treated well in my absence.” The words are obviously sincere, but the accompanying smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Prince Adam is interesting—and definitely putting on his “I am talking to the press” face; it rankles Kris.

“I was treated well, thank you,” he says coolly; two can play at that game.

“Princess,” Brad admonishes, “don’t be rude.” He turns to Prince Adam, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Adam. He’s usually much more pleasant. I think he’s still feeling under the weather.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by Kris’ demeanor, but Kris catches the slight frown on his lips before he smoothes it away. Prince Adam moves off of the bed fluidly—not an easy feat since he’s dressed in something far more elaborate than Kris on his best days—brushing away every wrinkle on his jeans and shirt, picture-perfect in seconds; Kris would take hours to do the same.

“I’ll leave you alone then. You’ve had a trying day,” he says neutrally.

Kris frowns. “Brad, could you leave us for a moment?” Brad’s eyes dart back and forth between them. He opens his mouth, probably to whine and ask why, but Kris cuts him off. “Please?” he says pleadingly, looking up at him from beneath his lashes.

Brad glares at him. “You know I can’t say no to that. Fine.” He stomps over to the door and closes it with a firm tug.

Prince Adam chuckles, looking at the door with a fond smile. “He’s certainly something.”

Kris finds himself grinning. “No argument there.” He clears his throat, schooling his features into something more appropriate. “I wanted to talk to you, without Brad flitting about and being all…Brad-like. I think we got off on the wrong foot, so let’s try this again.” He holds a hand out to Prince Adam, smiling tentatively. “Hi, I’m Kris. I’m your fiancé.”

It makes him laugh, full and genuine. “Nice to meet you. I’m Adam,” he says, taking hold of Kris’ outstretched hand, grinning broadly.

This time, the smile is sincere, reaching all the way to his eyes. He looks so much better this way.

“Feeling’s mutual, Adam.”

  
  


  


“So what do you think?”

Adam stumbles. “Fucking hell, Tommy. I told you to stop lurking in the shadows like that.”

Tommy slinks out of the hidden alcove, smirking. “But it’s so much fun.”

“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes and continuing his walk down the hallway.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Per usual, Tommy has decided to walk along with him, uninvited; persistent prick.

“What was the question, again?” Adam says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his expression in check.

Tommy scowls, punching Adam in the shoulder. “Tell me what you think of Princess already.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “Princess?”

Tommy waves a hand at him. “It’s a thing. Which you’d know if you’d bothered to listen to either of your parents when they told you about him.”

He shrugs. “It didn’t seem all that important at the time.”

“How is finding out what your future consort is like not all that important?”

“I had other things on my mind,” Adam says, distracted. They’ve made their way to his chambers, and on his bed are what looks like the entirety of the Royal Tailor’s stores; he has never seen so much satin in his life.

“Adam!” Cassidy says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He crosses the room to where Adam and Tommy are standing, kissing them both on the cheek before pulling them both over to the mountain of satin. “Your mother told me I had to get started on the wedding wardrobe, so, here I am.”

“And the entire wedding wardrobe entails miles worth of satin?” Tommy says dryly, poking at a bolt of gold fabric.

He grins sheepishly. “Well, I got a little carried away. It’s a big deal! Adam’s getting _married_ , Tommy, I need to go all out. You can’t half-ass a Royal Wedding.”

Adam groans. “Stop mentioning the M word.”

Tommy snickers. “Seriously, Lambert? Get over yourself. You could do a lot worse than Princess.”

Cassidy leans in. “You’ve met him? What’s he like? All the articles I’ve seen talk about him like he’s an angel straight from Heaven.”

“He’s too good for Adam,” Tommy says, matter-of-fact.

“Hey!” Adam says indignantly. “You’ve only known him for twenty-four hours; I’ve known you for almost twenty-four _years_. Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

“Nope,” Tommy replies promptly, abandoning the gold satin in favor of a bolt of purple tulle.

Cassidy laughs. “I want to meet him. Prince Kristopher sounds like an intriguing character.”

“Dude, just call him Princess; he doesn’t mind.” Tommy turns to Adam. “Seriously, Adam. Too. Good. For. You.”

Adam glares. “You’re fired.”

He scoffs. “Please. You’d be dead in five seconds without me to watch your back. It’s not my fault that your fiancé’s settling by marrying you instead of someone more worthy.”

“That gets less and less funny the more you say it, Tommy.”

Cassidy steps in between them; Adam looks pissed. “You know he doesn’t mean it, Adam. Just, Prince Kristopher has a bit of a rep in that regard. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say anything negative about him. You, honey, have negative press in spades.”

Adam pouts, sinking onto the divan by the window. “I know. Did my father really have to marry me off to a modern-day saint?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Stop whining. You know the marriage thing was supposed to get you to slow down a bit, but did you listen? Nope. You thought it was an idle threat and kept doing your tabloid darling thing, and now, you’re getting married; suck it up.”

Cassidy sits down next to Adam, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Tommy’s harsh, but he’s right. You know we love you, but it’s time to grow up. You can’t be the prince running wild around Los Angeles forever.”

He sighs. “I know that. I just always thought it’d end on my own terms, not my father’s. Arranged marriage. To someone I didn’t even meet until fifteen minutes ago.” Adam wilts, leaning onto Cassidy. “At least he’s cute,” he mutters.

“He is that,” Tommy says, freeing the bolt of purple tulle from the pile and clutching it in his arms.

“Tell me more?” Cassidy asks, curious.

“He’s _really_ cute,” Adam says, contemplative. “Just my type, appearance-wise, actually. I don’t know if I would’ve noticed him otherwise, though. Kris doesn’t seem like the type who’d be in any of my usual haunts. Not of his own volition, anyway.”

“He probably has a killer hangover, by the way,” Tommy adds, settling onto Adam’s other side, the tulle still in his arms. “Princess was a bit nervous yesterday so he had some champagne in the limo while we were en route to the estate. And then he had some more. And more. And more. He may have finished a bottle on his own. Taylor didn’t help by refilling his glass as soon as it emptied.”

“That explains why he was so crabby when I talked to him,” Adam mutters.

“He was really out of it. Taylor and Terrance had to carry him in,” Tommy says, absently caressing the tulle.

Cassidy makes a soft sound. “Poor thing. He must’ve been so nervous.”

Adam smiles wryly. “He seemed fine when I spoke to him. A bit snappish, perhaps, but my parents can have that effect on people.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “We get it, your parents suck for forcing you to marry a virtual stranger.” He rises from the divan, the bolt of purple tulle clutched to his chest. “I don’t need to be here for this, so I’ll leave you two to flail and squeal over clothing. Cassidy, you can hunt me down for measurements later.” With that, he takes his leave, slipping out the door and shutting it, all without making a single sound.

“You know,” Cassidy says, eying the door warily, “the fact that he can do that is both reassuring and unbelievably potent paranoia fuel.”

Adam nods in agreement.

  
  


  


Kris has to admit, under different circumstances, he would love being here. The people are welcoming, Eber and Leila incredibly so, and he never feels like a stranger—even after the tenth time he gets lost trying to find his room on his own. For all its grandness, the estate is cozy, a lived-in feel on a higher scale.

He still doesn’t know his way around, but he can find what he needs to. Even when he doesn’t, there are all sorts of rooms that are worth exploring. Most of them are empty, but a few aren’t.

One of them is the music room, which had looked a bit dusty when he’d stumbled upon it, but everything’s still in good condition. Music is something Kris holds close to his heart. When he was growing up, it was all he’d think about. He’d spent hours learning how to play anything and everything he could get his hands on—with varying degrees of success—and imagine doing this for the rest of his life.

Then he’d been told that it wasn’t something princes could do all the time, and while it’s a nice hobby, it’s _just_ a hobby.

Kris hasn’t touched a piano—or any other instrument, really—in a long time. At least, not to play. Not like he used to when he was younger, when he’d sit there for hours and turn his thoughts into melodies, endlessly entertained by the changing colors of sound.

He hasn’t had the time to do that for years. Now he does.

Kris could learn to love it here. Honestly, part of him already does. He just wishes he could forget the reason he’s even here in the first place.

Prince Adam seems just as determined to forget. The first time Kris saw him is the only time. He’s rarely at the estate, and the few times he is, Kris never sees him. Tommy says that it isn’t personal, that Adam’s just a workaholic who likes taking on as many things as possible, but Kris knows that their engagement plays at least a small part in it.

He doesn’t blame Adam. If they both had their way, the whole thing would be called off. But it’s not up to them. Their parents decided to take matters into their own hands and arrange this whole mess, and they just have to learn to live with it.

Kris hates it. He’s not used to being told what to do, not in matters as important as this. His parents have always given him free reign—within reason. They let Kris roam all over the world, let him satisfy his need to actively help those who needed it. They let him spend years living abroad, flitting from country to country, setting up organizations to continue what he started.

He’d known that it wouldn’t last forever. Kris had always known that his time was limited, that eventually, he’d have to return to Arkansas and, in essence, be trapped there. Kings can’t rule a kingdom from across the ocean.

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Marriage. _Arranged_ marriage. To a man he’s only met once.

Objectively speaking, Kris could’ve done worse. _Way_ worse. Adam’s kind of insane—two words: Royal Yacht—but he seems nice. If nothing else, Kris will never be bored of him. Adam’s fascinating.

Kris’ fingers stumble on the piano keys. He hasn’t thought about Adam much, not in anything more than vague terms. The man Kris has to marry. The stranger he rarely sees. Kris doesn’t know who Adam is and it feels like he never will.

He hadn’t known that it bothers him as much as it does.

It’s not like he _wants_ to marry Adam. He’s a virtual stranger. Kris has only really talked to him once. Isn’t the two of them getting to know each other the point of Kris being here?

Thinking about this is making Kris’ head hurt. The music room is his own little sanctuary, Kris’ Adam-free zone. This is his safe space. He can continue to stress out about this when he has to leave the safety of this room. Right now, he’ll lose himself in the music and, for a little while, everything in the world will seem perfect.

His playing has gotten rusty after so many years of disuse, which made it hard at first. He’d had to relearn everything, retrain muscles that have forgotten how to move properly, but now it’s as easy as it used to be.

Kris plays all the songs he can think of, the ones he’s never forgotten, the ones he hadn’t even known he knew. He starts singing along at some point, and he lets himself soar. This is easy. This is familiar. This is all that exists.

He has to stop when his voice gets too hoarse and his hands cramp up. Kris never likes having to stop, but he can’t ignore the real world forever.

“I didn’t know you played.”

Kris jumps, fingers slamming down on the keys, the harsh sound of a cluster chord ringing in the air. Slowly, he turns around to face his uninvited guest. Adam’s standing in the doorway, smiling tentatively at him.

“I-” Kris’ voice breaks, a blush heating his cheeks as he clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t get to that much. Never have time for it,” he says softly, starting to play scales, focusing on the keys instead of the man behind him. Kris can feel Adam’s gaze on him, so intense it’s almost a caress.

“And now you do,” Adam says, much closer than he was the last time Kris looked. He’s right next to Kris now, sliding onto the bench, pressed against him from shoulder to thigh; too close.

Kris scoots away nervously. “I guess,” he mumbles, eyes still trained on the keys. His eyes betray him and flick over to Adam for a moment, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I don’t know what I can and can’t do.”

He tries not to flinch when Adam lays a hand on top of his own, stilling his twitching fingers. “Anything you want, Kris,” Adam says, squeezing his hand and beaming at him. “This is going to be your home someday.”

Kris can’t contain his wince. Adam’s smile dims and he lets go of Kris’ hand. Kris reaches for it and holds on tight before it even registers that he’s doing it. Adam’s eyes widen.

“Don’t go,” Kris whispers plaintively, looking down at their joined hands.

Adam doesn’t say anything for a long time. Kris isn’t brave enough to look up and see why.

He’s about to let go when Adam does it for him; Kris continues staring down at the keys. He looks up, surprised, when Adam doesn’t take his hand away, just moves it so that he can intertwine their fingers; Adam’s staring right at him. Kris feels like he can’t breathe.

His other hand comes up to rest on Kris’ cheek. His touch is light, tentative. Adam leans in closer, closing the gap between them. Kris can feel Adam’s breath ghosting against his own lips, almost touching but not quite.

“I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime. Is that okay?” Adam asks softly, his lips brush against Kris’ occasionally as he speaks.

Kris’ breath catches in his throat. “I, umm, you,” he babbles, letting go of Adam’s hand and backing away from him a bit. He doesn’t let Kris move very far, keeping him close with a firm arm around his shoulders, and waits, blue eyes watching him patiently. “Yeah. Yes. That’s more than okay,” Kris stammers, cheeks flushing.

Adam smiles at him, bright and brilliant. “It’s a date.”

  
  


  


Brad watches Kris rummage through the vast closet with thinly-veiled amusement. Kris has never been one for fashion—one of the many reasons why Brad is invaluable to him—and he’s never cared all that much about what to wear. That Kris is frantically searching for an outfit and actually paying attention to what he’s picking out is a first.

Kris doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

Brooke had given him a royal blue envelope earlier, a secretive smile on her face. He’d been curious, but then he’d gotten distracted and forgotten all about it. He’d remembered it about an hour ago, and upon reading the contents, he’d made a beeline for his room.

Kris had burst in, scaring the hell out of Brad. He’d started to ask what was wrong when Kris shoved the envelope at him with a “This explains everything, no time to answer questions,” before disappearing into the walk-in closet. The thing is freaking huge, and after a half or so of looking through it, he still hasn’t found anything to wear.

It’s just a date.

Kris is freaking out over a date. Adam hadn’t even told him himself. He’d written Kris a letter. A _letter_. Nothing fancy—unless you count the silver glitter that’d spilt out of the envelope when he opened it—just a few words written on Adam’s personalized stationery.

Although he has to admit, the multiple rejected salutations—stricken through with a thick black line that doesn’t quite obscure what lies beneath it—are endearing. Adam went through at least four variations of “my beloved fiancé” before settling on a simple “Kris.” The slanted, looping letters look innocent, and the actual message is just as innocuous.

It’s only a dinner date. With his fiancé.

Kris is really not prepared to deal with this. He hasn’t dated since… He can’t even remember the last time. It’s not like he’s never been with anyone, but his love life isn’t that high on his priority list.

And they expect him to get married and not have it end in disaster?

Kris cannot do this.

“Brad, I’m going home. No, I’m going to run away to a foreign country. I’ve heard that Venice is lovely this time of year. I’m going to go stay there for a while.”

Brad sighs, stepping into the doorway and blocking Kris’ exit. “Kris, get a hold of yourself.”

“I can’t do this!”

“What happened to ‘I think this can work,’ and ‘this isn’t so bad’?” Brad asks, raising a brow and frowning worriedly at how jittery Kris is.

“That was before. I was wrong. This won’t work, and this is bad. Really bad.”

Kris’ bottom lip trembles, and Brad takes his hand, pulling him to the bed and sitting him down.

“Okay, Princess, here’s what we’re going to do. First, calm the hell down. I’m the drama queen here and I don’t share. Second, I’m picking out your outfit because you have no fashion sense and god only knows what you’d come up with,” Brad rattles off, walking back into the closet and coming back out seconds later with an outfit. “And, finally, the most important thing is this,” he says, shoving the clothes into Kris’ arms. He’s staring into space, not really seeing Brad.

He scowls, snapping his fingers in front of Kris’ face impatiently. “Princess, pay attention to me.” When Kris’ gaze clears and he meets Brad’s eyes, he smiles. “Calm down, put those clothes on, and don’t forget.”

“Don’t forget what?” Kris asks, looking less panicked, color returning to his face.

“You think you could fall in love with him, and that scares you,” Brad says, smiling gently. “Don’t let it.”

  
  


  


When Adam had said they were going on a date, Kris hadn’t been picturing this. “This” being the VIP section of some club, overflowing with people, paparazzi, and music so loud he can barely hear himself think, let alone what Adam’s saying.

Adam smiles at him apologetically, scooting closer to yell in his ear. “I’m so sorry! This place is usually one of the more quiet clubs. I had no idea it’d be like this.”

Kris gives him a strained smile. “No, it’s okay. This is good.” This is so not good. “I’m having a great time.” If one were to completely change the meaning of the word “great.”

Adam throws his head back, mouth opening on what Kris guesses is a laugh; he’s moved out of Kris’ currently—severely—limited hearing range. They’ve only been here for a half hour, tops, but it feels like an eternity. Kris isn’t much for places like this at the best of times. This is definitely not the best of times.

Brooke, Tommy, and Camila Grey—another member of the Royal Guard—had accompanied them here, but they’ve since melted into the crowd, keeping a discreet eye on the two of them. Even without them sitting in the booth right next to them, Kris feels like he’s being watched. Probably because he is. Someone must have tipped off the press, because getting in here had involved a lot of evasive driving and back exits. Getting inside hadn’t been any better. People have been giving him and Adam incredibly obvious looks since the moment that sat down.

As far as first dates go, it’s not exactly in Kris’ top ten. Or twenty. Possibly the top thirty, though.

Adam slides back over, an arm settling around Kris’ shoulders, warm and comforting. He leans down, pressing close to talk into Kris’ ear, barely audible even though he’s probably shouting; Kris’ ears are going to hate him later.

“We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. Being unable to hear you is kind of putting a damper on things.”

He squirms, uncomfortable, eying the girl covered in red leather who “subtly” has a camera phone pointed in their direction. “It’s fine,” Kris says weakly. Adam raises a brow at him, unconvinced. Kris huffs, pouting. “Fine, it’s not fine. I feel like I’m in a fishbowl.”

Adam laughs, his hand sliding over to cover the back of Kris’ neck, a thumb caressing the skin idly. “That’s more like it.” He sobers, giving Kris an apologetic look. “I really am sorry, though. I didn’t want our first night out to be a media circus.”

Kris absently lays a hand on Adam’s thigh and rubs it soothingly. “Stop apologizing. Don’t write this date off just yet; the night’s just begun.”

“Okay.” Adam takes his arm away, leaning back against the booth; Kris determinedly does not pout at the loss of contact. “So, tell me, Princess,” he ignores the indignant sound Kris makes, “how are we salvaging a night that began with an extended chase scene featuring us versus the paparazzi, a club overflowing with people who are only in here to watch us like we’re their own private reality show, and the inability to communicate without shouting into each other’s ears?”

Kris stares at him. “You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” When Adam stares back at him for a few, long uncomfortable minutes, he realizes what he just said and tries to backtrack. “I mean, just that, you talk a lot, and about all sorts of things, and it’s like you never stop.” Kris winces; that wasn’t any better. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” he huffs, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, leaning back against the booth.

Adam’s shaking with laughter next to him, his arm coming back to rest around Kris’ shoulders; Kris most definitely does not purr in satisfaction. “You are an interesting little puzzle, aren’t you?” he says softly, as if meant for his ears only, but somehow Kris catches it.

“Is that what I am? A puzzle? A riddle you need to find the answer to, and then will lose interest in once you figure it out?” Kris isn’t sure where that comes from, but it rings true. They’re going to be married soon, and they barely know each other. The hand on his shoulder feels less comforting now. “Adam, if it weren’t for this engagement, we wouldn’t have given each other a second look. For all we know, this interest,” Kris bites back the ‘this attraction’ that wants to follow, “is temporary. I’m a novelty. You’re the uncontrollable rebel and I save kittens from trees, or whatever it is the papers say I’m doing now.” His breath catches when Adam lays a hand on his cheek, turning him so that they’re looking into each other’s eyes.

“The papers say a lot of things about you,” he says, smiling. “Wonderful things that can’t possibly be true, because they never are. But when they’re talking about you, they are.” Kris opens his mouth—to do what he can only guess—but Adam lays a finger on his lips, stalling him. “We are getting out of here. There are many places we can have this discussion; this isn’t one of them.”

He lets go of Kris, who shivers at the sudden loss of his warmth, and stands up, holding a hand out to him. Kris looks up at him, nervous, and takes hold of Adam’s hand, pulling himself up. He trips on his way out of the booth, but Adam catches him, his arms wrapping around Kris instinctively, steadying him.

In the middle of a crowded club, surrounded on all sides by prying eyes and invasive strangers, Kris feels safe. He tells himself that the protective arm Adam has wrapped around his waist has nothing to do with it.

  
  


  


“Where are we going?”

Adam’s gaze darts over to Kris, smiling at the way he’s fidgeting with his seat belt. He’s never been so thankful for Tommy’s paranoia. Thanks to him, Adam’s beloved Mustang had been waiting out back for them to make a quick getaway, unseen by the paparazzi. Well, unseen because Tommy’s a sneaky bastard and just plain intimidating. No paparazzo with the will to live crosses Tommy if they know what’s good for them.

“Somewhere,” Adam says, grinning; Kris doesn’t look all that reassured. “Relax, Princess. You’re in good hands tonight.”

“Says the man who brought me to a club full of piranhas for our first date,” he grumbles. “And stop calling me Princess; you have to earn that privilege.”

Adam raises a brow at him, incredulous. “You tell everyone you meet to call you that. You introduce yourself as Princess Kris, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, you’re a special snowflake, then, aren’t you?” Kris says, giving him a crooked smile. There’s a softness to it that makes Adam’s heart beat a little faster. It’s a smile he’s seen Kris give to others but never to him. Having it directed at him is leagues better than seeing it from afar. “It’s not that I don’t want you to call me that. I just... It feels…off, somehow.” He shifts, wriggling a little in his seat; Adam wants to hold him still and nibble on his neck, watch him wriggle around some more.

Where did that come from?

“Right,” Adam replies, distracted. He knows Kris is cute—the type of cute he usually has bent over the closest available surface within ten minutes of meeting them—but so far his thoughts concerning Kris have been relatively innocent. “I can respect that. But I have to admit, watching you get all huffy and indignant about it is kind of charming.”

“Haven’t you read the papers? I’m incredibly charming. I’m a saint, an angel sent down from Heaven, et cetera.”

Kris says it lightly, but there’s a bitter twist to his smile. Adam frowns, placing his hand on Kris’ leg, squeezing it comfortingly. “The papers lie all the time. But in your case, they get most of it right.”

He risks death by way of LA traffic to smile at Kris. The answering smile he receives is definitely worth it.

“Well, in your case, they get most of it wrong. I think. You don’t look like you’re always hanging out in the backrooms of seedy clubs doing coke and bending over any twink who’s attractive and willing,” Kris says innocently.

The Mustang veers a little off course as Adam’s hands jerk in surprise. “Did you really just say what I thought I heard you say?”

Kris laughs, low, husky, and unbelievably sexy. Adam is starting to think that he is so very doomed. “You heard me right,” he says, grinning mischievously.

If Kris keeps this up, Adam’s going to drive them into the ocean.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to the past few years. What have you done since you came of age?”

Kris is hesitant at first, but he warms up to the subject soon enough, unbelievably earnest and sincere as he tells Adam about his work abroad. Adam spends most of the drive watching Kris from the corner of his eye. Watching the emotions play across his face is fascinating. His face is incredibly expressive, especially for a royal. His reactions are instant and honest; it’s refreshing.

Adam can’t help beaming when the familiar sight of his house comes into view. It’s small, and he doesn’t get to go as often as he used to, but it’s still his.

Kris falls silent as he pulls into the driveway, turning his head this way and that to take everything in. “Wow. Is this yours? It’s beautiful.”

Adam can’t help preening a little. “It is,” he says fondly, looking at the stone walkway bordered by hydrangeas. He and Tommy had spent a very memorable week attempting to plant them—and then calling a gardener to do it instead after many disastrous tries. The little birdhouse on the window had been a gift from Taylor, the odd haphazard paintjob courtesy of Sasha and Terrance “helping” him paint it.

This house had been Adam’s first big splurge after he’d reached his majority. He’d been driving along this road and the “For Sale” sign had caught his eye. The next thing Adam knew, he was signing the papers.

It’s not grandiose or glamorous but it’s his.

He hasn’t brought anyone here except members of the Royal Guard—not even his parents, although they do know of its existence, but Adam thinks taking Kris here was a good move. Hopefully, it’ll make up for the disaster at the club. Knowing Tommy, he’s already taking down names and making sure it doesn’t happen again.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Kristopher,” Adam says brightly, beaming at the wonder on Kris’ face.

“Seriously, Adam; this is yours?”

“That’s what the lease says,” he says flippantly as he turns off the ignition. He gets out, laughing when he sees that Kris hasn’t moved a muscle. “Come on, Princess. Our first date isn’t ending with us doing it in my car.”

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Kris says, finally moving to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Besides, having sex in your car would be a step up from being stalked by all the paparazzi in Hollywood. And stop calling me Princess.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but Adam offers a hand to him. He glares at the offending appendage before slapping it away, getting up on his own and slamming the car door shut.

Adam beams at him. Kris’ glares really aren’t that effective when all they make Adam want to do is pet him. “I appreciate knowing that you’d prefer sex with me to dealing with the vultures.” He gestures towards the walkway. “After you, Princess.”

Kris glares at him some more before trudging down the path, poking at Taylor’s birdhouse and scrutinizing it. Adam takes his time trying to find the house key. Kris is an interesting little thing. Adam’s never quite sure what to make of him.

Not that that’s a bad thing.

“Taylor gave that to me as a housewarming present. The paintjob is a team effort, though. I think Terrance and Sasha got more paint on each other than the birdhouse,” he says, nonchalant, fitting the key into the lock

Kris flushes, pulling his hand away. “Sorry.”

Adam shrugs. “It’s fine. It’ll technically be half yours soon enough. It’s not like any birds actually inhabit that thing. I think the neon pink and lime green against the purple frightens them a bit.”

“I wasn’t actually sure it was even a birdhouse,” Kris admits with a small chuckle. “It’s kind of an eyesore, man.”

“It is. I’d never get rid of it, though.”

“Why not?” Kris asks, tilting his head and poking warily at the birdhouse.

“It was from a friend. I’m sentimental like that,” Adam says, turning the key and opening the door nervously. “Come on in,” he says with false bravado, holding the door open.

Kris steps over the threshold, turning around in a slow circle once he gets to the middle of the room. Adam just barely keeps himself from biting his nails. He doesn’t get nervous about things like this anymore; he’s a grown man. Kris is just someone he invited to his house. A house they’ll live in together—at least sometimes—after they’re married.

Adam focuses on putting the security alarm back on and locking the door instead of staring at Kris nonstop so he can gauge his reaction. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t see. He’s not sure he could take it if Kris hated their house.

“It’s lovely, Adam,” Kris says, eyes glued to the view of the sun setting over the hillside before moving on to the spiral staircase that leads to the bedroom. “Cozy.”

If it was anyone else, Adam would be skeptical, but Kris sounds so awed that it’s hard to doubt him. He practically oozes sincerity. No wonder the tabloids keep treating him like he pukes rainbows.

“I got most of this stuff secondhand. Well, except the bed. That bed is the best bed ever and I will never regret spending as much as I did on it,” Adam says defensively. Everyone he knows still likes to rib him about that particular splurge.

Kris laughs, giving him a crooked little smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do you want to see it?” Adam winces. Could that have sounded any more like a bad pick-up line? “I mean, see the rest of the house. Not just the bed.”

“So the bed is just going to be the main attraction?” Kris asks, blinking up at Adam with wide, innocent eyes.

He rolls his eyes, taking Kris’ hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. “You’re far more annoying than people make you out to be, you know that?” Adam says over his shoulder as he leads Kris away.

Kris just squeezes his hand and beams at him in response.

  
  


  


“Okay. This bed is _amazing_ ,” Kris moans into the mattress, voice muffled.

Adam laughs, taking in the sight of Kris starfished on the bed. He’d made a run for it as soon as Adam took them up the stairs to the master bedroom. It’s king-sized and obscenely comfortable, piled with plush pillows and blankets; Adam swears the mattress is made from angels’ wings.

“Told you,” he says smugly, prodding at Kris’ side until he makes room for Adam to join him on the bed.

“And I told you I don’t put out on the first date, so don’t think this means you’re getting some,” Kris teases, turning over to lie on his back. “You were definitely right about this bed, though. It’s your house’s best feature.”

“Right? Everyone else said I was stupid for spending so much on a bed, but none of them have actually felt the wonders of this mattress; I’ve never slept so well in my entire life.”

Kris raises a brow. “You mean I’m the only other person who’s actually been on this bed?”

Adam squirms, staring up at the ceiling as he makes a big show of getting comfortable. “Maybe,” he hedges, eyes flitting to Kris and then away. “I told you, I don’t bring that many people here.”

“But you’ve had Tommy and everyone else over, right?” Adam nods. “And none of them have ever been up here?” Kris asks, incredulous.

Adam’s gaze remains firmly on the ceiling. Kris splutters and starts laughing, full belly laughs that make his nose crinkle. Adam may be kind of doomed.

“Well, thanks for letting me be the first,” he says softly, giving Adam a shy, pretty little smile.

He’s not really sure how he goes from smiling back at Kris like a sappy fool to sticking his tongue down his throat.

  
  


  


Kris usually gets more warning before someone kisses him. Well, slightly more warning—he has a bit of trouble noticing when people are hitting on him. Still, there’s usually an incredibly obvious hint beforehand. A too blatant come-on, like a hand that wanders somewhere most definitely not innocent or an invitation to go somewhere private; there’s an indicator of some sort that they want to do unseemly things to Kris. There’s usually a slow build, gentle, unhurried pecks that tease and just barely hint at what’s to come. There usually isn’t outright attacking.

What Adam’s doing to him right now, it is definitely an attack.

He has a hand on Kris’ waist, his grip tight enough to bruise. Kris wriggles a little to test it and Adam’s hold tightens, keeping him still. He shivers and arches up instinctively, hands coming up to rest on Adam’s shoulders, fingers digging in.

Adam groans against his mouth, low and rough, moving closer and settling in between Kris’ spread legs—when exactly that happened, he can’t say—and breaks the kiss, staring down at him with dark, predatory eyes.

Adam’s lips part as if to speak, but his gaze focuses on Kris’ mouth, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek, fingertips caressing Kris’ bottom lip.

“You have such a pretty mouth,” Adam whispers, leaning down to kiss him again, soft and slow this time, exploratory.

Kris makes a soft pleased sound, pulling Adam down until his body is pressed to Kris’ own, the solid weight of him blanketing Kris. Adam’s lips are soft, the hand on his waist slipping under Kris’ shirt, petting the soft skin. Adam’s mouth is sweet and gentle, tongue coaxing Kris into responding instead of conquering and forcing him into submission. It’s the kind of thing Kris remembers doing with his first girlfriend, when he’d barely known anything about anything and was too scared to ask for more than what was being given. This kind of exploration is sweet, exhilarating in its own way, but Kris wants more of the Adam that took without asking, that overwhelmed him in the best way.

He bites at Adam’s bottom lip, hard enough to hurt a bit if the way he hisses a quick breath between his teeth in response is anything to go by. Kris licks at the sting in apology, hands moving up to bury themselves in Adam’s hair, grabbing onto the thick strands and tugging.

Adam whines, pushing Kris further up the bed until his head almost slams against the headboard, breaking contact to kiss a path down to Kris’ neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin and worrying at the flesh hard enough to leave a mark.

Kris makes a noise—he refuses to call it a purr—and arches into it, a leg wrapping around Adam to keep him close. He can feel Adam’s cock, hard and hot against Kris’ thigh, his own erection trapped between them, desperate for more friction than he can get from rubbing up against Adam.

“Adam,” he starts, wanting to ask for more—and maybe for less clothing to be involved—but Adam and his wonderful, wonderful mouth leave. Adam’s biting his lip, eyes downcast. He’s kneeling between Kris’ legs, not touching him at all; Kris feels cold.

“Adam,” he says again, reaching for him. Adam catches his hands in his own, kissing them before letting go, setting them down on Kris’ chest.

“Wait,” Adam tells him.

Kris groans, throwing an arm over his eyes; nothing good ever comes after the word ‘wait.’

So of course his response is to press a thigh between Adam’s legs and grind against his dick.

“Oh my _god_ , you royal brat,” he groans, slipping a hand into Kris’ hair and tugging, tilting his face up to claim his mouth in a savage kiss, teeth and tongue and not at all gentle.

Kris hums in pleasure, winding his arms around Adam’s neck and holding him close.

This is perfect.

  
  


  


Kissing Kris is addictive. The little sounds he makes, the softness of his lips, the insistent hands that reach for him unconsciously, wanting more. Adam could spend hours just doing this.

But he has a plan and, sadly, acting like horny teenagers and having sex on their first date isn’t part of it. Although Adam’s starting to consider making some serious revisions to allow that.

Kris has such a gorgeous mouth. That bottom lip of his deserves Adam’s constant attention. He can’t help nipping at it over and over again just to feel Kris shiver beneath him, eliciting the most delicious little noises. He’s so damn responsive, eagerly meeting Adam’s every touch, his hands fighting with Adam’s belt. He reaches down to help Kris undo it and take it off—

Wait.

Reluctantly, Adam pulls away, Kris whining in displeasure and wrapping his legs around him to keep him in place.

“Kris, we can’t just go at it. This isn’t exactly a one night stand.”

Kris groans, head falling back against the mattress. “You had to choose _now_ to be noble? You started this, man.”

He wriggles, causing some incredibly distracting friction. Adam’s hands clamp down on his hips, holding him still. “Stop it; I’m being serious. We’re engaged. We can’t just fuck and ignore the consequences,” Adam says sensibly, absently stroking the soft skin beneath his fingertips.

“I’d be more inclined to listen to you if you weren’t petting me or the one who attacked me in the first place,” Kris deadpans, glaring up at him.

Adam lets go, his hands hovering in the air uncertainly before settling at his sides. “There. No more petting—and I’m sorry about the, umm, attacking you thing. I don’t really know what happened,” he says sheepishly, giving Kris an apologetic smile.

Kris’ lips curve into a teasing smirk, eyes dark and heated. “You have no self-control and I’m too pretty to resist?” Adam starts tickling his sides, making him squirm away. “Okay, okay, kidding,” Kris gasps out between laughs. “Except not really because you did shove your tongue down my throat without warning.”

“You have a pretty mouth!” Adam says defensively.

Kris stares at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter. “I cannot believe you just said that,” he says between what almost sounds like giggles.

Adam rolls his eyes and starts undoing the buttons on Kris’ shirt; he goes abruptly silent. He has half of them undone when Kris finally finds his voice again.

“Are you undressing me?”

“Are you letting me?” he shoots back as he gets to the last one. Kris lets Adam slip the shirt off his shoulders, baring a lot of smooth, golden skin. He lets out a low whistle. “You’re pretty all over, aren’t you?”

Kris flushes, suddenly shy. “Am not,” he mumbles, peeking up at Adam through his lashes.

Adam tilts his chin up, leaning down to kiss him tenderly, a soft brush of lips that makes Kris sigh. “You really are,” Adam murmurs, fingers trailing across bare skin, making Kris tremble.

“You know what the papers don’t say about me that’s actually one hundred percent true?” he breathes, arching into Adam’s touch.

“What?” Adam asks absently, more focused on mapping Kris’ torso with his hands and thinking about doing it with his tongue afterwards.

“For the right person, I’m an easy lay,” he says, unbuttoning Adam’s fly and pulling the zipper down.

  
  


  


Adam’s big. Kris moves his hand to get a better grip. _Really_ big. Big and thick and leaking at the head, so ready for more. His mouth waters a little, thinking about what it’ll feel like inside him. Kris wishes Adam would stop trying to be noble and just fuck him. It’s been a while since Kris has been able to appreciate sex, and he’d definitely appreciate it with Adam.

“Princess Kris? Easy?” he asks, breath catching on a choked moan as Kris starts moving his hand, a torturous pace that doesn’t give any relief if the bruising grip on Kris’ hips is anything to go by.

“For the right person,” Kris says, finding one of Adam’s hands with his free one and intertwining their fingers. “I think I’m allowed to be shameless with my fiancé.”

“I’m the only one you’re allowed to be shameless with,” Adam retorts, grabbing hold of Kris’ wrist, halting the slow, slick slide of his hand. “And you aren’t distracting me that easily. We are discussing this before anyone has any sort of sex. Understand?”

Kris pouts. “Yes,” he grumbles, letting go and putting his hands at his sides, staring at the open fly of Adam’s jeans longingly.

Isn’t Kris supposed to be the one thinking rationally instead of with his dick? Adam has no right to be all logical and think of the consequences; that’s Kris’ job. Although, really, the conversation is doomed from the start. Adam would’ve had much more luck getting Kris to pay attention if he’d zipped up his pants and put his cock away. As is, his boxers are still pulled down to bare Adam’s erection in all its glory, something Kris had done himself only moments before.

He can distantly hear Adam talking in a higher-pitched than normal voice and he can see the frantically waving hands. Kris even manages to make out a few words, something about marriage and traditions and responsibility.

“Are you even paying attention?”

Kris reluctantly drags his gaze away from Adam’s dick—which looks so sad at being neglected for something as trivial as conversation—and up to Adam’s face. He’s glaring, lips pursed in a frown; Kris is in trouble.

“Of course,” he mumbles, eyes skittering away from the full force of Adam’s glare. Those bright blue eyes are going to be the death of him, this time literally; Adam looks like he wants to incinerate him.

Adam snorts, flicking Kris’ forehead. “Liar. I know when someone’s focusing on my dick instead of me. I’m supposed to be the one begging for it.”

Kris rolls his eyes. “Can we forget about who’s supposed to be doing what? I’m horny, okay? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt anything besides my own hand?”

“Like you couldn’t get some if you really wanted to,” Adam says teasingly, fingers caressing the thin skin stretched over his hipbones before sliding up to trace the curve of his waist. “You’re ridiculously pretty, Kris.”

He can feel his cheeks flushing, heat spreading across his face and down his neck to his chest; Kris hates how bright his blushes can be. “I’m half-naked in your bed—I don’t think you need to sweet-talk me.”

“I can compliment my fiancé all I want. Having you shirtless and blushing beneath me is just a bonus.” Adam’s eyes on his bare skin are appreciative, a small smile on his lips. “A very nice bonus,” he says softly, tone almost reverent.

“Can I be naked and blushing beneath you instead?” Kris asks, grinning hopefully.

His hands reach for his jeans and undo them, shimmying his way out of them before Adam can answer. Kris wanted to get naked, like, five minutes ago. He’s about to pull down his underwear, but Adam grabs hold of his wrists, keeping them still.

“Will you stop trying to speed things along? You have no patience whatsoever, do you?” Adam says, eyes glued to the growing wet patch on Kris’ briefs, the white cotton almost translucent; Kris will be ashamed about how eager he is for it later.

“And you have too much,” he bites back, wriggling his hands and trying to move the fabric past his hips, down and off. Adam’s concentration will probably go way down once Kris gets naked.

Adam’s grip tightens; Kris can’t move his hands at all. He shouldn’t find that as hot as he does.

“Hold still, you impatient brat,” Adam growls.

Kris bites back a whimper.

“Look, I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”

Kris opens his mouth.

“Don’t even think about,” Adam warns, squeezing Kris’ wrists with just enough pressure to remind him.

He closes it without saying a word.

Adam relaxes his grip. “This isn’t something we can do lightly. We don’t get to hook up and walk away; this is it. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together,” he says softly, the most hesitant Kris has ever seen him.

Kris slips his hands out of Adam’s hold, sliding them down to interlace their fingers. “Yeah, we are. And I don’t know a damn thing about you,” he says, laughing wryly. Kris stares at their clasped hands for a moment. He doesn’t know Adam, not really, but he knows, “I want this. I want _you_. Can we figure it out from there?”

Adam smiles at him, a fragile little thing that blossoms before Kris’ eyes. “I think I can work with that.”

“Good,” Kris says, beaming up at him. “So,” he drawls, pointedly looking down at the extremely distracting dick that he’s somehow managed to ignore for the past few minutes, “can the sex commence?”

Adam laughs, letting go of Kris’ hands to reach for the hem of his shirt. “Yes, you royal brat. The sex can commence.”

Kris thinks he does a pretty good job of controlling his response.

  
  


  


Kris looks like every single holiday ever created came early. His eyes are crinkled up in the corners, a brilliant smile on his lips, so big it’s almost maniacal. Adam barely keeps himself from bursting into laughter.

He can feel Kris wiggle around some more as he pulls his shirt over his head. When he has it off, Kris is naked under him—and tugging impatiently at Adam’s jeans.

“Can these go? They’ve been annoying me for the longest time,” he says, glaring at the pants as if they exist merely to make Kris’ life more difficult.

Adam rolls his eyes and pushes them past his hips, slipping it off and tossing it somewhere behind him before collapsing onto Kris. He flails at the unexpected weight, smacking Adam’s shoulder.

“A little more warning next time?” Adam rubs up against him, lets the hard, heavy length of his cock brush the soft skin of Kris’ inner thighs. He lets out a breathy little moan, back arching in an attempt for more contact. “Never mind. Warnings aren’t necessary. Just keep doing that,” Kris demands, legs spreading wider.

Adam laughs, settling back onto his knees and pressing a kiss to the corner of Kris’ mouth, taking a moment to nibble on that lush bottom lip. “So how long has it been, exactly?”

Kris averts his eyes. “A while,” he mutters. “Can we stop talking about sex and actually have some?” His hands settle on Adam’s ass, squeezing appreciatively before pulling him back down, rocking his hips slowly against Adam’s. “If you don’t do something, I will, and you don’t want me to start being bossy.”

“You mean you can be even bossier?”

Kris pinches his side, glaring up at him. “You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are.” He looks like he’s gearing up for a nice indignant rant.

Adam takes great pleasure in derailing it by taking the head of Kris’ cock into his mouth. He’s moving before Kris registers the action, slipping down to suck in the leaking tip, a shocked little cry leaving his lips. His hips buck up into Adam’s mouth, trying to increase the depth, but he pins Kris down. He shudders under Adam’s hands, arching into the gentle suction, clutching at the sheets with white-knuckled hands.

Adam loves doing this. He loves controlling his boy’s pleasure, being the cause of every single reaction. Kris has stopped pushing, demanding more than what Adam will give. He’s just takes it, so responsive. The sweet little gasps Kris makes when Adam takes him deeper, the shiver that travels down his spine when Adam rakes his nails down Kris’ sides; it’s deliciously intoxicating.

A hand travels down Kris’ body, caressing the soft skin of his thighs, brushing against Kris’ hole experimentally. He trembles, a pleading whine escaping his red, wet mouth. Kris puts a leg up, opening himself more to Adam’s gaze.

“Have you done this before?” he asks softly, solemn.

Kris rolls his eyes. “Plenty, so stop worrying about being gentle and making this special. You don’t have to play the experienced teacher showing the clueless virgin how it’s done.”

“I know,” Adam says, pressing a kiss to Kris’ hipbone, “but this can still be special.”

Kris smiles back shyly, lashes lowered demurely. He is never getting over how unexpectedly sweet Kris can be. “You’re such a romantic underneath all that tabloid darling nonsense, aren’t you?”

“And you’re a shameless hussy,” Adam says fondly, patting Kris’ outstretched leg. “Raise this one for me, baby.” Kris complies; Adam loses his train of thought for a moment. He shakes his head to clear it, not missing the satisfied little smile on Kris’ face at the action. “You’re just asking for it,” Adam threatens half-heartedly, too charmed by Kris’ smile to put any real heat behind it.

“And you still haven’t given it to me,” Kris retorts. “I’m under you with my legs spread; what part of that makes you think I’m _not_ asking?”

Adam rolls his eyes, taking Kris’ hand and wrapping it around his cock, his own covering Kris’ as he moves it up and down, controlling the pace. Kris shudders, bucking up into their grip. “You stay here and entertain yourself while I get what we need,” he says, letting go as Kris nods frantically, his strokes quickening.

Adam’s only in the adjoining bathroom for a few minutes to grab the lube and a couple—more like a strip or two—of condoms but when he gets back, Kris looks like he’s five seconds away from coming all over himself. His face is flushed, sweat dripping down his temples as heartfelt groans leave his lips, eyes shut tight as he arches into his own fist.

Kris’ eyes fly open when Adam sits down on the bed. He reaches blindly for Adam, whimpering. He pets Kris’ thighs soothingly, appreciating the view before him. The rosy flush reaches all the way to Kris’ chest, lean muscle stretched taut as he strains to keep himself in check. Adam lays a hand over Kris’ heart, feels its rapid beat.

“How close are you?” he asks, rolling a nipple between his fingers, pleased with the way it makes Kris shake.

“Very,” he breathes, opening his eyes to glare up at Adam.

He makes a noncommittal sound, trailing a hand down Kris’ body. “You’re not one of those guys who falls asleep as soon as they come, are you? That’d be such a downer on our sex life.”

Kris gives him a hopeful smile. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Adam nods, chuckling a little at how the answer makes Kris’ eyes light up. “I’d offer to help you out but I really don’t think you need any,” he remarks, giving the steadily leaking head of Kris’ sex a long look.

“But I wouldn’t mind it,” he coaxes, wiggling his hips a little.

Adam has to admit that Kris paints an incredibly tempting picture. He makes a mental note to buy more sheets in this color; Kris’ skin looks gorgeous against this shade of blue. He looks gorgeous, period, all spread out and desperate. Adam wants to suck that pretty, pink cock into his mouth and make Kris come down his throat, feel the muscles in his thighs strain as Adam holds him down and works him over with his tongue until Kris is shaking from oversensitivity.

All of that sounds so very good; watching Kris sounds even better.

“Neither would I,” Adam says, placing his hand on top of Kris’ own, smirking at the guttural moan he makes when Adam uncurls the fist wrapped around his aching erection. He licks his lips, red and swollen, and stares at Adam pleadingly with eyes so dark they’re almost black, a thin ring of brown around his blown pupils; Kris looks so ready.

The hazy, heated gaze melts into confusion when Adam pulls him upright, his body swaying as he tries to regain his balance. Kris stammers incoherently and whines, mouth pursed in a petulant little pout that doesn’t falter even as Adam kisses it.

“Patience, Princess,” he says, laughing a little, wincing when Kris nips Adam’s lower lip, not at all amused. “Hold on, you royal brat,” he mutters, moving behind Kris and settling down, spreading his legs and pulling Kris into the vee between them.

Kris takes Adam’s hands and places them on his body, taking Adam’s hands and placing them on his body, arching into them and making pained little noises; his skin is fever-hot against Adam’s own. He indulges Kris for a moment, taking his dripping cock in hand and stroking it slowly. He leans his head back against Adam’s shoulder, baring his neck. He can’t resist marking the pale flesh, craning his neck to get a better angle, sucking and nibbling at Kris’ throat until he’s a trembling, moaning wreck.

“Oh my God, just fuck me already,” he demands, fingers digging into Adam’s thighs.

His fingers trail down past Kris’ balls—pausing for a moment to give them a teasing caress—and circle his twitching hole, just barely letting the tip of one finger slip past the rim. Kris shakes violently, trying to push down against the intrusion.

“In a moment, Kris,” Adam says soothingly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Hand me the lube.” He tries not to laugh when Kris practically shoves the bottle into his hand. “Relax, baby; we have time.”

Kris twists around to glare at him. “You relax; I’m _dying_ here, Adam.”

He slicks his fingers up, rolling his eyes at how the sound of the cap popping open makes Kris perk up. “I never would’ve guessed,” Adam retorts. “You get really bitchy when you don’t get your way, don’t you?”

Kris pinches his thigh, snickering at the yelp Adam makes. “Only when sex is involved,” he says breezily, sighing happily when Adam’s fingers go back between his legs.

“As fun as it is to see you get all worked up, I want to take my time with you,” Adam says, talking over Kris’ annoyed snort, “and you are way too close for me to do that.”

“So what are you—?” Kris cuts himself off with a low, rattling moan, bucking into the hand wrapped around his cock, stripping him quickly, a pace meant to push him over the edge.

He’s babbling a little, arching into Adam’s strokes even as he tries to ask what he’s doing, clarity leaving him the closer he gets. Adam can feel the tension building, Kris’ grip on Adam’s thighs painful now, the short, sharp nails digging in, bright pinpricks of pain. His moans are increasing in volume and pitch, voice breaking on a high, sharp sound when Adam pushes two fingers inside of him and, god, Kris is opening for it so easily, the hot, tight passage clenching around his fingers rhythmically.

“Come for me,” Adam rasps into Kris’ ear, relishing the resulting tremble. “I know you want to, I can feel it; come for me.”

He does, so beautifully; Adam can’t help praising him for it, petting him soothingly as he breathes through the aftershocks. Kris is pliant and so very sweet in the aftermath. He lets Adam lay him out, lets him taste and touch and take to his heart’s content. When Adam’s finally satisfied—for the time being, at least—and Kris is ready, he pushes into him, slow, watching the flickers of emotion across Kris’ face, so open to Adam’s gaze and uncaring of the fact.

He finds Kris’ hand, intertwining their fingers, and lets the fragile beginnings of something that might be love take hold.

  
  


  


Kris is pulled from a peaceful slumber by an obnoxious beam of sunlight shining right onto his face. He bats at it ineffectually before giving up and rolling over to hide his face in the covers—except he rolls onto another body instead. His eyes pop open to meet Adam’s amused ones, bright blue and sparkling.

“Hi,” Kris squeaks, eyes widening.

Everything that happened yesterday is slowly coming back to him, and there is no way he can look Adam in the eye after the way he behaved last night, because he put out on the first date. Kristopher Neil Allen, Crown Prince of Arkansas, does not put out on the first date. Not only that, he begged for it. Kris usually saves the begging for at least the fifth date—the third if things are going really well.

Adam doesn’t look put off or anything, though, just unbelievably happy. There’s softness in his gaze, tenderness in the hands that settle on Kris’ hips, keeping him steady.

“Morning, baby,” Adam says, smiling brilliantly.

Kris’ breath gets caught in his throat. “Hi,” he chokes out, giving Adam a smile that feels tight and unnatural on his lips.

Adam’s smile dims, the light in his eyes flickering out. “Sleep well?” he asks, not sounding nearly as enthusiastic as he had seconds ago.

Kris bites his lip, unhappy with the way Adam is shutting down. Kris is the one freaking out. He is freaking out because he is a total slut and he should be ashamed of himself, but that does not mean he regrets anything that happened last night.

“Yeah,” Kris says softly, settling a little more comfortably on top of Adam, resting his head in the crook if his neck and breathing him in, unable to stop a smile from forming. “Amazingly well.”

Adam hums, tense muscles relaxing; Kris feels like he could melt into him. “I’m glad,” he says, kissing the top of Kris’ head.

He wants to say something, possibly talk about where they stand now, but Adam’s warm and soft, and it feels so good to be in his arms; talking can happen later. Right now, Kris just wants to sleep a little more.

He closes his eyes and lets the steady beat of Adam’s heart lull him back to sleep. They never do get to talk that day. They spend most of it dozing in-between bouts of sex. Kris thinks as far as second dates go, it’s pretty much perfect.

  
  


  


Adam’s kind of a romantic. The stupid, extravagant, sappy, grand gesture type of romantic. It’s technically a secret because the last time he had a serious relationship that lasted for more than a few months, he was chubby, awkward and redheaded; the tabloid darling had yet to exist.

By the time he started looking for that kind of relationship again, his reputation as a glittery confetti cannon of doom was sealed, which meant the kind of boys he usually attracted weren’t exactly the long-term commitment type. Things like candlelight dinners and moonlit walks on the beach didn’t go over well with them.

Still, Adam’s always been hoping to lavish that sort of attention on someone special. He’d thought that that was never going to happen, but now he has Kris. They’re getting married regardless of whether or not Adam woos him into a happy puddle of lovesick goo, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do it anyway.

He does all the silly, sappy things he’s always wanted to do for a significant other but never had the chance to. Covering Kris’ room in rose petals (Kris had seemed more perplexed than impressed); buying him all sorts of little trinkets, gorgeous yet understated, so very Kris (he’d thanked Adam for each and every one, but the real fun lay in the surprisingly inventive ways Kris would show his appreciation for the gift); taking him out for dinner on the new Royal Yacht (Kris had been more interested in asking Adam for details on the sinking of the old Royal Yacht—which no one is allowed to talk about ever).

It’s not like Kris hates any of it. Well, as far as Adam can tell, anyway. Every single time he asks Kris what he thinks, his answer is to take Adam’s hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the infinity symbol tattooed on the inside of his wrist.

So, yes, Adam’s definitely a romantic. He likes showering Kris with love and affection and Kris likes basking in it. Adam likes to plan all sorts of ridiculous things for them to do, little surprises to spring on Kris later so he can watch the way his eyes light up.

But Kris likes to surprise people even more than he enjoys being surprised. It’s one of the many things he discovers about Kris in the months leading up to their wedding. He likes to do things that people never expect of him—and go beyond what they do—and throw them off-balance.

The ring box in Kris’ hand definitely throws Adam off-balance.

He hands it to Adam mutely, so achingly shy. Kris doesn’t dare to look at him and Adam can’t bring himself to look away. After a few painful minutes of silence, Adam sits down on the nearest bench, turning his attention to the box and opening it, keenly aware of Kris watching him. It’s a simple platinum band with a row of princess-cut diamonds that sparkle in the light.

“I know it’s just a formality at this point but you’ve been so amazing,” Kris says softly, still not meeting Adam’s eyes. “I wanted to get you something. I know it’s not much—”

“Kris?”

He finally looks up, eyes hopeful.

“Shut up.”

Kris’ face falls; Adam wraps an arm around his waist before he can do something stupid like make a run for it.

“Let me talk, you idiot,” he says, frowning. Not that Kris can see that because he’s gone back to staring at everything but Adam. “I love it,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to Kris’ forehead. “I love it, it’s perfect and you are an idiot.”

“Saying you love it and calling me an idiot in the same breath is a bit of a mixed message,” Kris says, looking up at him with a sly smile.

Adam rolls his eyes. “There’s my royal brat. Shut up and put your ring on my finger,” he says, handing the box back to Kris, beaming.

He takes it out and slips it onto Adam’s finger; it fits perfectly.

“How’d you know my size?” he asks absently, staring at his hand; Kris’ ring looks like it belongs there. Adam is not going to do something pathetic like start blubbering all over Kris and talk about being meant to be. He absolutely will not.

Kris shrugs. “I asked Cassidy. He nearly knocked me over when I told him why I needed it.”

“Kristopher, you got me an engagement ring; of course he knocked you over,” Adam says, still staring at his ring.

“He was ready to take me ring shopping himself,” Kris says wryly, leaning into Adam. “I wanted to do it on my own, though.”

“You picked this out by yourself? I underestimated your taste, Princess.” He squeals a little when Kris pinches his side. “I meant it in a good way! It’s beautiful, Kris. Thank you,” Adam says softly, tilting his face up for a kiss.

Kissing Kris is something Adam will never tire of. He melts into Adam’s arms, pliant and trusting, so very sweet. He forces himself to break the kiss when the need for air is too great to ignore. Kris presses a kiss to the corner of Adam’s mouth, probably right on one of those damn freckles he loves so much.

“I’m glad you like it,” Kris says gently, lips curved up in a luminescent smile.

Adam’s always known that he’s the kind that believes in everlasting love and large displays of affection that only happen in movies. Kris doesn’t work the same way. He doesn’t do fancy dinners and tons of presents and romantic getaways. He works on a smaller scale, things that seem innocuous yet are anything but. Kris does things that sneak up on him and overwhelm him in the best way. Things like secretly buying Adam an engagement ring and then giving it to him while on a stroll through the gardens.

“You didn’t have to get me this,” Adam says, looking down at his hands. “I’m a sure thing, Princess. I don’t need a ring to remember that.”

“Maybe I’m the one who needs reminding,” Kris says softly. “We lucked out, Adam. This could have gone wrong in so many ways.”

“But it didn’t,” he points out, punctuating his statement with an affectionate squeeze before slipping his hand down to rest on Kris’ thigh. “I’d say we’re pretty well-suited.”

Kris laughs a little, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “That’s one way of putting it.” He leans into Adam, eyes bright.

“Do you love me?” Adam says abruptly, eyes widening. He hasn’t dwelled much on that particular aspect of their relationship. They’re getting married no matter what Kris’ answer is; love isn’t a deciding factor here. Adam’s not even sure he actually wants to know the answer. He’s ready to take it back, to apologize and change the subject, but Kris puts a hand on his cheek, bringing every thought in his head to a grinding halt.

“Do you love _me_?” he asks gently. When Adam starts stammering nervously, Kris just smiles, shushing him. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m just trying to make a point. To be honest, I don’t know, Adam, and I don’t think you do either. Our entire relationship has been in fast-forward. We’re supposed to be married by the time fall comes around.”

“When you lay it out like that, it just sounds depressing,” Adam grumbles, glaring half-heartedly at Kris’ serene face. “Why are you being so calm about this? Brad said you almost had a conniption when you found out about the engagement.”

Kris shrugs. “It grew on me. To be more specific, you did,” he says, callused fingers caressing Adam’s cheek.

“Presents, flattery; what ever will you think of next?” Adam says, leaning into the tender touch.

“It’s not like I’m doing it to get into your pants,” he teases. “You did invite me into your bed on the first date and everything.”

“Says the one who kept telling me to shut up and just fuck him already,” Adam retorts, delighting in the resulting blush. “Look, just forget about it. I don’t even know why I asked.”

Kris gives him a look, one Adam’s already familiar with. He calls it Kris’ “you aren’t fooling me because I’m smarter than you and you know it” look; it’s a really annoying look. “Don’t even, Lambert. You forget, I know your secret,” he says, grinning devilishly.

“And what’s that?” Adam asks warily.

The wicked edge in his smile vanishes, smoothing out to a sweet, sunny smile. “You’re a sappy fool underneath it all. As happy as I think we both are with how this turned out, part of you wants us to be in love,” Kris says, matter-of-fact.

“Is that so wrong?” he whines, petulant.

Kris laughs, moving closer to lean his forehead against Adam’s. “No. There’s nothing wrong with being in love.”

Adam frowns. “But?” he prods.

“I don’t think we are,” Kris says gently, eyes falling shut, lashes dark against his cheek. Adam thinks he makes some sort of distressed sound because Kris wraps his arms around him, holding on tightly. “But we could be; _I_ could be,” he whispers, so soft Adam just barely hears it. “I could be,” Kris says again, louder this time. “I could be in love with someone like you.”

Adam’s breath catches. He’s going to marry this man. He’s supposed to marry this man. More importantly, Adam’s realizing that he _wants_ to marry Kris.

“I could fall in love with you so easily,” he says, dazed, barely registering Kris’ surprised little gasp. “I could. Maybe I’m not right now, but it’d be so easy to be.” Adam leans back and extricates himself from Kris’ embrace, slipping off of the bench to get down on one knee.

Kris is staring at him with his mouth open, eyes widening further when Adam takes off his ring. “Adam, what are you doing?”

He beams at him, taking Kris’ hand in his own. “My beloved Princess—”

“Adam, I swear, I am going to end you—”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, okay.” Adam takes a deep breath. “Kris,” he starts, heart pounding, “will you marry me?”

Kris just stares at him, perplexed, brow wrinkled in confusion. “But…I am?”

“Just answer the question, Kristopher,” Adam says. “Will you marry me?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’m still not following you on this.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “I’m asking you to marry me, you brat. Not because we’re supposed to or because our parents arranged it; because I want to. Are you following me now?”

Kris blinks, obviously stunned. “You’re proposing? You’re proposing to me after this is much pretty much a done deal? They started planning our wedding last month.”

Adam sighs. “You couldn’t make this easy and just answer me. It’s a simple yes or no question, Princess. Will you marry me? Will you grow old with me? Will you marry me because I _want_ to marry you?”

“Yes,” he says breathlessly, looking dazed.

“That didn’t sound very confident,” Adam teases, sliding the ring onto Kris’ finger. It doesn’t quite fit but it looks like it’ll stay put. “That ring is just a placeholder. When we pick yours out, I’m taking it back.”

Kris nods absently, staring at his hand. “You proposed to me.”

“I did,” Adam says, watching him with a fond smile.

“You proposed, and I said yes.”

“You did,” he agrees, getting up off his knees to sit back down next to Kris.

“We’re getting married,” he says in a wondrous tone. Kris turns to face Adam, a radiant smile on his lips. “You want to marry me, and I said yes.”

Adam grins back at him. “I’m going to make you my queen, Princess.”

Kris scowls, punching him in the shoulder. “I am not going to be your queen, you jerk,” he says.

Adam’s smile widens. “You are,” he says, kissing Kris to stem any insults that are sure to follow that statement. Kris is still frowning when they pull apart but there’s little effort in it. “I don’t care what your official title is, Princess. I have you, and that’s all I’m ever going to need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be found on [LJ](http://eirana-regan.livejournal.com/13443.html) and [DW](http://eirana-regan.dreamwidth.org/4031.html).
> 
> [Art Masterpost](http://unfrosted-cake.dreamwidth.org/8666.html) this way.


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